Sukh promptly dropped to one knee. “My Khan, words cannot express what I am feeling at this moment.”
“Nor I, Captain,” Temujin said venomously.
“I am so relieved to see you alive and well,” said Sukh.
“No thanks to you, Captain,” said the Khan, spitting the last word out as if it were a foul taste in his mouth.
“My Khan?” Sukh met his master’s hateful gaze with pleading eyes.
Without warning, Temujin thrust his free hand into the air and Sukh screamed as he felt himself being lifted off the ground violently. The Khan curled his fingers, and Sukh clawed at his own throat, futilely trying to pry away the invisible fingers crushing his larynx.
“I grow weary of your incompetence, Sukh,” Temujin said. He took a small step forward, his progress hindered by the weight of the general supported on his shoulder. “Your orders were simple: Destroy the alien. Yet there he was at the school, fighting alongside my enemies.”
“My Khan,” Sukh gasped. “The TDC—”
“Yes…” Temujin pulled the struggling Captain closer with a twitch of his wrist. “The TDC. Not the pathetic band of children playing soldier we were led to believe, eh, Captain? The battle was won. Alexander was in my grasp, but then—”
Temujin tightened his fingers, and Sukh’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he gasped for air.
“Then,” Temujin continued, “the alien, Samrai, appeared and ruined everything. He destroyed my weapons, crashed my Ragnarok, killed a hundred of my best men, and now my sarcophagus — my greatest treasure — is lost.”
“Please,” Sukh wheezed, “give me one more chance, my Khan.”
“Save your pleas for the gods,” Temujin said. “Their capacity for generosity far surpasses my own.”
Sukh managed one last plea for forgiveness. “Please, my Khan, I can get the coffin back.”
Temujin loosened his grip on Sukh’s neck, but did not release him from the hold suspending him in the air. “Speak quickly.”
“We intercepted a transmission… from the American Air Force… just before you arrived,” Sukh said, pausing to take a large, sweet breath of frigid air. “They have recovered the sarcophagus from the crash site… and are taking it to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.”
Slowly, and reluctantly, Temujin lowered Sukh to the ground onto his knees, allowing the captain to suck in large breaths of air. The Khan covered the distance between them in a few labored steps and gazed down at the man with utter contempt.
“You have one chance to redeem yourself, Sukh,” Temujin said. “Succeed, and all will be forgiven. Fail me again, and you will beg me for death, but I cannot promise I will grant it.”
“Yes, my Khan.” Sukh rose to his feet and reached for the wounded general. “Here. Let me relieve you of your burden.”
The Khan kicked Sukh back onto his knees.
“Do not touch him, you miserable cur,” Temujin snarled. “General Chuluun has served me faithfully, which is more than can be said for you. When I was a boy, fasting in the wilderness, he alone came to my aid when I was accosted by wolves. He carried me home on his back for two days while I slept and bled upon his shoulders. I am honored to return the favor.
“Your filthy hands will not touch him. You are not worthy. He is not now, nor will he ever be a burden to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Khan!” Sukh pressed his forehead against the cold ground at his master’s feet. “Forgive me!”
“Make preparations to move the temple to a new, secure location,” Temujin ordered. “I will not have Alexander’s forces attacking us on our own ground, since you allowed the one person with that knowledge to escape.”
“Yes, my Khan,” said Sukh.
And with that, his master strode out of the train house and into the temple, his blood-soaked bearskin cloak flowing behind him.
Sukh’s fingers curled into a tight fist. “It shall be done.”
Epilogue
East Van Buren High School
Farmington, Iowa
Alex surveyed the devastation littering the school parking lot from his perch on the edge of the roof. All the wrecked remnants of the Death Walkers were gone, collected by the military when they swept the area after the attack. Their discarded weapons were gone, too. The idea of the government possessing the same technology as his team worried him.
Quintin tapped his arm and passed him a paper cup with a straw sticking from the top. Alex accepted it and took a long sip; the thick chocolate shake soothed his raw, aching throat as he swallowed.
Quintin pointed across the lot. “There’s your car.”
Alex nodded. He’d already spotted it underneath the twisted wreckage of one of the police cruisers. He didn’t know if it could be salvaged or not; it looked pretty bad. He pointed about twenty feet to the right at a tangled mass of metal.
“There’s Pop’s truck.”
Quintin grimaced, remembering his painful arrival to the battle in the back of the truck. “Is he…” he struggled to find the correct word, “pissed?”
Alex snorted. “There isn’t a word in English or Phaedojian to sum up how my dad feels right now, Quint.”
“So… really pissed?”
“Oh, yeah.” Alex laughed. “Super pissed.”
Alex passed the cup back to Quintin and continued surveying the damage in silence. He picked up a broken piece of brick beside him and chucked it at the nearest wrecked car. It sailed through the broken windshield and landed in the back seat.
“Are you scared?” Alex asked.
Quintin placed the cup down between them. “No.”
“I am,” said Alex gravely. “You saw what he did this time. What will he do next? Who else is he going to kill just to get to me?”
“He’s not going to get the chance,” said Quintin. “We know where to find him now. We’ll bring the fight to him.”
Alex nodded. He already knew all of this, of course, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t going to be that easy.
A distant hum vibrated the air around them, and the twins looked up to see the Saber hovering in the distance. The engines’ hum grew in intensity and then suddenly became silent. Then, in a brilliant flash of light, the ship streaked through the air toward the upper atmosphere. They watched the craft for a moment until it disappeared above the clouds.
“What’s that about?” asked Quintin.
Alex just smiled and took another sip of chocolate shake. “Just a little unfinished business, Quint.”
*****
Office of Naval Administration
Federation of Allied Systems, Planet Phaedaj
Admiral Ohrb stalked down the corridor toward his office. An urgent communiqué had been delivered to him, interrupting some much-needed private time with his mistress. The message read that the Glynfarian ambassador was waiting in his office and refused to leave until he spoke to the admiral.
Ohrb had had quite enough of the little runt’s constant meddling and snooping around his office. This was the last straw. He planned to throw the feeble old bastard out the nearest airlock; inter-planetary relations be damned.
The door to his outer office slid open to receive him, and the admiral barged through the room, not paying his secretary any heed as he stormed toward the door to his inner office. The door opened with a hiss, and Ohrb stepped inside to find the ambassador, Jiri, standing beside his desk, leaning on his walking stick. The admiral was about to give the ambassador an earful when he noticed his chair was swiveled around with its back to him. Pale fingers tapped the armrest.
“Whoever you are, you’ve got about three clicks to get out of that chair before I wring your neck,” the admiral huffed.
The chair turned and the admiral found himself looking at a pale creature with strange yellow fur on top of its head and two forward-facing blue eyes in the center of its face. The alien held a plasma pistol in its five-fingered hand.
“Hello, Admiral,” Sam said with a friendly
smile. “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”
To be continued in
WAR MACHINES
Book II of the Temujin Saga
Books by Adam J. Whitlatch
The Weller
Matt Freeborn is a weller, one whose job is to seek out the most valuable commodity in the wastes: clean, potable water. The weller’s precious cargo makes him a prime target for attack from savage road pirates, grotesque mutants, ravenous cannibals and ruthless private armies.
Armed with his trusty sidearm, the Well Digger, Freeborn is fully prepared to handle any of these terrors, but there are still things even the weller fears: the bogeymen of the wastes… distillers.
War of the Worlds: Goliath
On the eve of World War I, the Martians from the original H.G. Wells classic have returned to finish what they started, but this time humanity is ready. Armed with steam-powered battle machines created from reverse engineered alien technology, the global defense force A.R.E.S. prepares for the coming conflict as tensions rise in Europe. Captain Eric Wells, an orphan of the first War of the Worlds, commands Earth's newest, most formidable weapon... the colossal battle tripod Goliath.
Based on the award-winning animated film by Joe Pearson and Tripod Entertainment.
About the Author
Adam J. Whitlatch has written dozens of short stories and poems spanning the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. His published novels include Birthright, The Weller, and the official novelization to the animated film War of the Worlds: Goliath.
Adam lives on a small farm in southeastern Iowa with his wife and their three sons.
www.adamjwhitlatch.com
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part I: Project Alexander
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part II: The Awakening
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part III: Quintin
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part IV: The Battle of East Van Buren High
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Books by Adam J. Whitlatch
About the Author
Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga Page 25
